THE  IMMORTAL 
LURE 

CJLE   YOUNG  RICE 


lifornia 

tonal 

lity 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 


THE 

IMMORTAL    LURE 


BY 

CALE   YOUNG   RICE 

AUTHOR    OF 

A  NIGHT  IN  AVIGNON,  YOLANDA    OF  CYPRUS,  CHARLES  DI 
TOCCA,  DAVID,  MANY  GODS,  NOWANA  DAYS,  ETC. 


GARDEN  CITY        NEW  YORK 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
MCMXI 


ALL  EIGHTS  KESESVZD,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  rOBZIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT,   IQII,  BY  CALL  YOUNG  RICE 
PUBLISHED,  FECRUARY,  101 1 


THK  COUNTRY   LIFE   PRESS,  GARDEN   CITY,   NEW   YORK 


infinite  passion  and  pain 

Of  finite  hearts  that  yearn 


FACE 
GlORGIONE I 

ARDUIN 27 

O-UME'S  GODS 51 

THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 73 


GIORGIONE 


CHARACTERS 


GlORGIONE   .  . 

ARETINO      .  . 

TITIAN    .    .  . 

BELLINI  .    .  . 


GIGIA 


ISOTTA 


and 


A  Young  Painter 

A  Dissolute  Poet 

Another  Painter 

The  Former  Master  of  Giorgione  and 

Titian 
An  old  woman  serving  Giorgione 


GIORGIONE 

SCENE:  A  work-room  of  GIORGIONE  on  the  edge  of 
the  Lagoon  in  which  lie  the  Campo  Santo  and 
Murano.  It  is  littered  with  brushes,  canvases, 
casts,  etc.,  and  its  walls  are  frescoed  indiscrimi 
nately  with  saints  and  bacchantes,  satyrs  and 
Madonnas,  on  backgrounds  religious  or  wood 
land.  A  door  is  on  the  right  back;  and  foliate 
Gothic  windows,  in  the  rear,  reveal  the  magic 
water  with  its  gliding  gondolas.  On  a  support 
toward  the  centre  of  the  room  is  a  picture  — 
covered,  and  not  far  from  it,  a  couch. 

Late  Afternoon. 

GIORGIONE,  who  has  been  sitting  anguished  on 
the  couch,  rises  with  determined  bitterness.    As  he 
does  so,  BELLINI  enters  anxiously. 
3 


4  GIORGIONE 

Bellini.    Giorgione! 

Giorgione  (turning).    It  is  you? 

Bellini.  Your  word  came  to  me, 

In  San  Lazzario  where  I  labored  late, 
And  shakes  my  troubled  heart.   You  will  not  do  this ! 

Giorgione.    Yes! 

Bellini.  How,   my  son!  her  picture!   as 

a  wanton's! 

Giorgione.  Tho  it  has  been  till  now  my  adoration! 
The  fairest  of  my  dreams  and  the  most  holy! 
Yes,  by  the  virtue  of  all  honest  women, 
If  such  there  be  in  Venice, 
I  swear  it  shall  be  borne  by  ribald  hands 
Thro  the  very  streets. 

Bellini.  My  son! 

Giorgione.  A  public  thing  I 

[Points  to  picture. 

Fit  for  the  most  lascivious!  who  now 
Shall  gaze  on  what  I  had  beheld  alone, 
On  what  was  purer  to  me  than  the  Virgin! 
The  very  pimps  and  panders  of  the  Piazza 


GIORGIONE  5 

Shall  if  they  will  whet  appetite  upon  it, 
And  smack  their  losel  lips. 

Bellini.  And  to  what  end? 

Giorgione.    Her  shame! 

Bellini.  The  deeds  of  wounded  pride 

and  love 

Work  not  so,  but  fall  back  upon  the  doer  — 
Or  on  some  other. 

Giorgione.  I  care  not! 

Bellini.  Nor    have, 

Ever,  to  heed  me!   as  Aretino, 
Who  turns  your  praise  to  Titian,  has  told. 
For  your  wild  will  runs  ever  without  curb, 
And  I  who  reared  you,  as  my  very  own, 
Must  pay  the  fall. 

Giorgione.  No! 

Bellini.  And  the  piety 

I  would  have  won  you  to  in  the  past  days 
Is  wasted.    The  Madonnas 
I  painted  with  a  heart  inspired  of  Heaven 
You  paint  with  pride. 


6  GIORGIONE 

Giorgione.           But  with  all  gratitude! 
Ah  yes,  believe  me, 
And  with  a  rich  remembrance! 
For  scarce  oblivion  could  wipe  from  me 
How  as  a  wasted  lad  I  came  to  Venice  — 
A  miserable,  patched  and  pallid  waif, 
With  but  an  eye  to  see  and  hand  to  shape! 
You  took  me  from  the  streets  and  taught  me  all 
The  old  can  teach  the  young,  until  my  name 
Is  high  in  Venice  — 
Linked  with  that  of  Beauty— 
"Giorgione!  our  Giorgione!"  do  they  cry 
On  the  canals,  the  very  gondoliers. 
And  in  a  little  while  it  should  have  glowed 
Immortal  on  the  breast  of  Italy, 
As  does  Apelles  on  the  page  of  Greece, 
For  I  was  half-divine,  until 

Bellini.  Until 

A  girl  whom  you  had  fixed  your  heart  upon 
With    boundless    folly,    you    who    should    have 

lived 


GIORGIONE  7 

With  but  one  passion  —  that  of  brain  and  brush  — 
Until  she 


Giorgione.     Say  it! 

Bellini.  This  Isotta 


Giorgione.  Ai! 

Whom  I  had  chosen  o'er  a  hundred  others 
To  soar  with! 

To  soar  and  then  in  wedded  peace  to  prize! 
This  false  Isotta 
Whom  in  poverty 

I  found,  as  you  found  me,  and  loved  to  madness. 
This  fair  Isotta 
Whom  I  would  have  made 
All  Venice  to  be  a  halo  for  —  as  were 
Cities  of  old  for  queens  of  sceptred  love: 
Until  she  leaves,  departs,  forsakes  me,  goes 
Away,  worthless  away,  from  my  true  arms, 
With  Luzzi,  a  lank  boy. 

Bellini.  So.    And  most  strange. 

Giorgione.    No,  nothing  a  woman  does  is  ever 
strange! 


8  GIORGIONE 

Will  they  not  cloak  a  lie  in  innocence, 

A  treachery  in  veiling  soft  caresses  — 

Tho  to  the  Mass  unceasingly  they  fare 

And  say  like  her  their  aves  night  and  noon? 

Have  they  a  want  that  wantons  not  with  guile, 

A  tear  that  is  not  turgid  with  deceit? 

Are  not  their  passions  blown  by  every  wind? 

Have  they  not  all  the  straying  heart  of  Helen? 

Then  why  must  I, 

Who  had  in  me  a  hope 

That  rivalled  Raphael's  or  Leonardo's, 

Keep,  cozened  so,  that  I  contemn  her  shame? 

Bellini.    Because  she  is  a  woman  —  whom  you 

tempted, 

Tho  with  all  trust  to  wed  her  —  and  you  know  not 
Whether  her  going  was  of  shamelessness. 

Giorgione  (laughing  bitterly).     Or   whether    she 

may  not  yet  return,  today, 
And  with  a  heart  that  is  a  nymph's,  a  soul 
That  is  a  nun's, 
Beguile  me  back  to  doting? 


GIORGIONE  9 

Whether  she  may  not  — 
With  that  body  God 

Might  once,  deceived,  have  moulded  angels  after  — ? 
Then  flaunt  her  thralling  of  me  to  the  world, 
Whose  ready  lips  should  laugh  where'er  we  went 
And   whisper,    "Isotta,    there!    Giorgione's   mis 
tress! 
Who  makes  a  mocking  of  him?" 

Bellini.  Never!    never! 

Only  your  unrelenting  brain  would  think  it. 
For  this  I  know  of  her,  that  tho  she  has 
Deserted  you  for  what  must  seem  to  be 
Only  a  new-found  passion  — 
Yet  is  she  womanly,  and  did  you  give  her, 
As  now  you  mean,  to  avid  lusting  eyes, 
Life  would  be  smitten  from  her. 

Giorgione.  As  it  should! 

Bellini.    And  then  from  you,  repentant  of  her 

fate? 

No,  no,  my  son,  I  have  not  seen  you  rise, 
A  planet  from  the  sea,  the  world's  first  painter, 


io  GIORGIONE 

To  set  in  this: 

You  owe  my  fathering  more. 

And  listen,  I  have  brought  to  you  a  way 

Of  laurels  for  forgetting.    I  have  come 

With  a  commission  from  the  Signoria, 

[Takes  it  from  his  breast. 
Which  names  you  the  chief  glory  of  this  city 
And  votes  you  proud  permission  to  adorn 
San  Marco's  highest  altar  with  perfection. 
Giorgione.    And  which  I  spurn,  an  insult  in  its 

pity! 

[Flings   it  from   him. 

As  they  shall  learn  —  these  silk  and  velvet  Signers, 
Whose  condescending  ducats  buy  the  dreams 
Of  the  immortal! 
Or  no!    .    .    .    I  meant  not  that  —  to  wound 

a  kindness. 
Bellini.  Your  ways  have  ever  been  the  ways  of 

wounding. 

Giorgione.    And  to  the  end  must  be.     (Brokenly) 
For  now  my  hand 


GIORGIONE  n 

Is  palsied!  I  can  never  paint  again. 

Colour  and  shaping  light  turn  in  my  soul 

To  chaos  and  to  blindness  —  to  despair! 

The  brush  I  lift,  to  sterile  pain  more  loth! 

I  yearn  and  impotence  alone  arises. 

That  picture  has  dried  beauty's  vein  within  me 

And  left  me    ...    Ah!    ...    She  shall 

atone  it!     (calls)  Gigia! 

Shameless  she  is  and  shall  be  seen  it!  —  Gigia!  — 

[Bitterly. 

Aretino,  who  is  the  tongue  of  lewdness, 
And  Titian,  who  trips  to  it,  may  gloat, 

[GiGiA  hobbles  in. 
But  they 

Bellini.    Giorgione!  you  have  sent  for  them? 

Giorgione  (to  GIGIA).    Whoever  seeks  my  door 

is  bidden  —  all! 

/ 
Gigia.    Yes,  Messer  Giorgio. 

Giorgione  (as  she  delays).    Go. 

Gigia.  Before  I  speak? 

Giorgione.    Of  what? 


w  GIORGIONE 

Gigia.  How  can  I  tell  you,  if  I  may 

Not  speak?    And  you  should  hear.    .    .    (Cross 
ing  herself)    It  is  the  plague. 
A  whisper  is  about 
That  it  has  broken  out  at  last  in  Venice. 

[GIORGIONE  staring  at  her,  trembles  and  seems 

slowly  stricken  —  while  his  eyes   fill  as 

with  some  evil  irrecoverable  remembrance. 

Bellini  (fearing  for  him).    Giorgione! 

Giorgione.  Oh!    .    .    .    and  yet    .    .    . 

nothing    ...    a  dream 
That  came  to  me  last  night  —  as  if  from  death. 

Bellini.    Then,  O  my  son,  it  is  a  premonition, 
A  pall  against  this  purpose!  that  you  may 
Not  let  these  ribald  two  — 
Aretino,  this  poet  and  depraver, 
And  Titian  snared  within  his  pagan  senses, 
Enter  and  gaze  upon.     .     .     .    O  boy,  you  will 

not! 

Despoil  the  picture, 
Scatter  it  to  the  seas, 


GIORGIONE  13 

And  vow  never  again  to  paint  another, 

Tho  that  would  break  my  heart,  but  promise  me 

[A  knocking  interrupts,  and  a  voice  without  calls 

lustily: 
Voice:  The  gods  of  paint  and  passion  ever  gird 

us! 
Where's  Messer  Giorgione?    Ho!    Ho,  ho! 

[GiGiA  hurries  out. 

Giorgione  (after  a  pause,  calling}.    Aretino! 
Aretino.  Ai,  light  of  ladies'  eyes! 

And  with  him  a  better!    Shall  we  sing  for  entrance? 
(Begins)  —  A  wench  I  had, 

But  where  is  she — ? 

A-ho! 
Old  Gigia,  is  it?    Then  we  come  apace, 

[Enters  leeringly  with  TITIAN. 

Like  satyrs  to  the  piping  of  Adonis! 

[With    irony. 
A  health  to  you,  O  heaven-born  of  Venice! 

[To  BELLINI. 


H  GIORGIONE 

And  to  you,  glorious  dauber  of  Madonnas  I 
But,  bah!  the  smell  of  melancholy!  Come, 
What  is  it?  The  tale  is  out  about  the  maid? 
And  therefore  tears? 

[Laughs. 

Well,  by  the  lids  of  Venus,  Giorgio, 
It  serves  you  well  —  or  Eve  was  not  a  woman! 
There  were  too  many  ripe  for  your  assay. 
Why,  I  believe  that  every  damsel's  lips 
On  the  lagoons  were  pinched  with  longing  for  you! 

Titian.    Or  enough,  at   least,  to   send   spleen, 

Giorgio, 
Into  my  eyes. 

Giorgione.  They  will  no  more,  Titian. 

Aretino.  In  sooth!  for  since  one  wench  in  all  the 

world 

Prefers  another,  he  will  play  the  monk! 
Since  she,  the  amorous  sun-kissed  Isotta, 
Had  charms  too  fair  for  one  to  satisfy! 
And  yet  —  to  choose  this  Luzzi, 
This  swaddling  acolyte  of  Innocence, 


GIORGIONE  15 

For  her  new  light-o'-love!  to  choose  him  out, 

When,  for  a  whiff,  she  might  have  had  my  arms 

[GIORGIONE  quivers. 
O,  Titian,  by  the  gods! 

Bellini.  Aretino!    .    .    . 

Giorgione.    Stay,  let  him  speak,  my  master,  as 
he  wills. 

Aretino.  I  say  then,  Seraph,  of  your  amorosa, 
That  she  deceived  me  — 
That  I  thought  her  dreams 
Were  chaster  than  the  moon,  or  by  my  beard, 
Which  is  not  born,  I  should  have  tricked  her  senses 
Away  from  you    ...    if  lies  and  treachery 
And  tempting  honeyed  verses  could  have  done  it! 
For  an  Elysium  like  her  warm  round  body 
I  never  looked  upon. 

Bellini.  Aretino! 

Giorgione.    Peace!   he   shall  speak!   for  this  is 
what  should  be. 

Aretino.    Ai,  Messer  Bellini,  and  your  age  for 
gets 


16  GIORGIONE 

That  he  is  well  consoled  with  the  dear  thought 
That  her  first  joy  was  his. 

Bellini.  Ah!    ... 

Aretino.  And  that  vision — 1 

Why,  I  have  peeped  upon  her  face,  no  farther. 
But  to  have  seen  the  beauty  he  has  seen, 
The  Aphrodite-dream  of  loveliness, 
I  would  have  dared  virginity's  last  door. 

Giorgione.    Then  you  shall  see  it. 

Bellini.  My  son! 

Giorgione.   .  Yes,  tho  I  die! 

Aretino.    How,  what  is  this? 

Giorgione    (going  to  picture).     Aretino,  Titian  — 
You  are  here,  tho  there  is  less  than  love  between  us: 
For,  pardon,  if  I  say  that  you  sometimes 
Have  loathed  my  triumphs. 

Titian.  That  is  so,  Giorgione. 

But  with  the  brush  I  yet  shall  equal  them. 

Giorgione.    You  shall   surpass  them.     For  my 
last  is  done. 

Titian.    Come,  do  you  jest? 


GIORGIONE  17 

Giorgione.  My  last,  and  it  is  there! 

[Points  to  picture. 
There  that  you  two  whose  tongues  have  been  so 

busy 

About  the  streets  with  laughing  and  innuendo, 
From  ear  to  ear  with  jest  and  utter  joy  — 
You,  Titian,  a  sycophant  of  Fame, 
And  you,  Aretino,  who  incarnate  lust, 
May  know  that  Giorgione  is  above  you. 
You  coveted  Isotta  with  your  eyes, 
Now  you  shall  have  her  as  shall  all  the  world! 

[Flings  the  curtain  back  from  the  picture  then 
sinks  to  the  couch. 

As  they  gaze  on  the  unclothed  form,  BELLINI 
turns  away,  when  he  sees  ISOTTA  enter. 
She  is  pale  and  ill,  but  moves  smilingly 
down  toward   GIORGIONE,  till  happening 
to  see  the  picture,  she  gives  a  deep  cry. 
GIORGIONE,  springing  to  his  feet,  dazedly 
beholds  her. 
Bellini  (speechless  till  he  sees  ISOTTA'S  pallor}. 


i8  GIORGIONE 

Isotta!  you  are  ill!    ....    O  would  my  breath 

Had  never  lasted  to  this  evil  hour  — ! 

Shall  I  not  bring  the  leech?  (when  she  does  not 

answer;  to  GIORGIONE)     This  price  has  pride! 

[He  goes:  then  ARETINO  and  TITIAN.    The 

curtain  falls  back. 
Isotta  (whose   eyes   have   closed).    The  flesh   of 

women  is  their  fate  forever! 
My  poor,  poor  body!  all  I  had  to  give 
So  desecrated. 

Giorgione  (hoarsely).  Why  have  you  come  here? 
Isotta.  To  see  Messer  Giorgione  —  who  is  brave. 

[Smiles  as  one  shattered. 
To  hear  Messer  Giorgione  —  who  is  gentle 
And  honourable  to  women  who  are  weak. 
To  —  heal  Messer  Giorgione  —  then  to  die! 
Giorgione.    Rather  to  kill! 
Isotta.  Why,  it  may  be.    If  love 

Still  leads  me,  it  were  best  that  it  be  slain. 
Giorgione.    The  love  of  a  wanton? 
Isotta  (slowly).  Who  beholds  her  body 


GIORGIONE  19 

Given    ...    to  unabated  eyes  —  yet  lives? 
I  think  it  must  be  so. 

Giorgione.  Alluring  lies! 

Out  of  pale  lips  of  treachery  but  lies! 
You  have  returned  to  me,  whom  you  have  cursed 
With  craving  for  you, 
With  an  immortal  love, 
Because  this  lisping  Luzzi, 
With  whom  you  fled,  weary  of  falsity, 
Has  cast  you  off. 

Isotta  (gently}.      Kind  Luzzi! 

Giorgione.  Ah!    and    blind? 

Not  knowing  that  you  now  are  here  again, 
Where  you  disrobed  to  my  adoring  soul, 
But  thinking  that  you  wait  him  with  fair  eyes 
Of  fond  expectancy  —  as  once  for  me! 
Believing  that  your  breath  is  beating  only 
With  ecstasy  for  him! 

Isotta.  He  is  —  but  Luzzi! 

Giorgione.  And  I  but  Giorgione,  smiling  quean! 

[She  turns  paler. 


20  GIORGIONE 

But  Giorgione,  a  vassal  to  your  sway? 

Back  to  your  orgies!  and  may  Venus,  goddess 

Of  black  adulteries,  but  not  of  love, 

Be  with  them!  May  your  blood,  that  I  believed 

Vestal  to  all  but  me,  run  vile  with  passions 

As  any  nymph's  of  Bacchus! 

May  your  body, 

That  I  have  painted  here,  be  to  all  time 

An  image  of  soul-cheating  chastity! 

[His  words  have  struck  her  down  —  and  over 
whelm  him. 
0, 1  am  lost,  lost,  lost  forevermore. 

[Falls  into  a  seat. 

Isotta  (at  length,  from  the  couch,  gathering  strength). 
No,  I  have  come  for  saving,  Giorgione. 
Now  I  can  speak  —  but  there  is  little  time, 
(Strangely)  For  Night  is  coming. 

Giorgione  (startled  to  questioning).  Isotta? 

Isotta.  The  still  Night, 

With  Death's  dark  Gondola  to  waft  me  o'er. 

[Then  as  he  realizes. 


GIORGIONE  21 

Nay,  stay,  stay!  leave  me  not.    There  is  no  help. 
For  it  must  be.    .    .    A  voice  Beyond  has  said  it. 
And  ere  I  drift  out  on  the  darkening  ebb 

Giorgione.  Isotta! 

IsoUa.  Peace  must  be  Giorgione's  too. 

Giorgione.  Speak  —  yet  it  cannot  be  —  my  heart 
is  dead. 

Isotta.  Then  it  shall  rise  again. —  O  Giorgione, 
My  lover  once  and  lord,  could  you  believe, 
Even  tho  I  went  away  from  you  and  with 
Another,  that  unchastity  could  touch 
This  body  which  had  been  holy  to  you? 

Giorgione.  Isotta! 

Isotta.  It  is  true  that  I  deceived  you, 

[With  mystic  fervor. 

True  that  I  went  away  from  you  and  wed 
Another 

Giorgione.      Ah! 

Isotta.  And  yet  it  was  not  Luzzi! 

[As  he  gazes. 


22  GIORGIONE 

Do  you  not  know?  you  who  so  oft  have  told 

On  saintly  walls  the  Magdalen's  sad  tears? 

Sin,  sin  had  seized  me! 

Sin  with  you  to  whom 

I  gave  my  body  and  soul  unboundedly. 

We  revelled  in  unwedded  ecstasy, 

Laughed  in  our  love  over  the  starred  lagoons. 

Sang  till  the  lute  was  like  a  thing  that  lived, 

Danced  happy  as  the  fauns  and  nereids 

That  oft  you  told  me  of  — 

And  clasped  and  kissed, 

O  kissed  —  until  I  knew  that  but  one  way 

Was  left  to  save  my  soul,  Giorgione,  one  — 

To  wed  me  with  the  vows  and  veil  to  Christ. 

[Gazes  at  a  crucifix 

Giorgione.  Isotta! 

Isotta.  I  am  His!    I  fled  to  Him! 

The  Convent  opened  its  grey  arms  to  take  me, 
Santa  Cecilia  of  the  Healing  Heart, 
And  Luzzi  kindly  led  me  to  its  door  — 
That  you  might  so  be  foiled  of  following. 


GIORGIONE  23 

And  with  long  vigils,  fasts  and  penances 
And  prayers  I  sought  oblivion  of  your  face. 
Until  this  illness  strangely  fell  upon  me. 
I  could  not  die  until  you,  shriven  too     .... 

Giorgione.  Isotta!    My  Isotta! 

[Falls  penitent  before  her,  weeping. 

Isotta  (her  heart  eased).  Peace,  at  last. 

Giorgione  (rising).  Ah  yes!  and  I  am  viler  than 

the  vilest! 

For  who,  remembers  not  that  purity 
Is  priceless,  ends  impoverished  of  honour. 
And  yet    .    .    .    there  is  no  wrong  irreparable! 
And  you  must  live  tho  all  the  angels  die  — 
Live  and  be  loosed  from  vows  too  vainly  breathed, 
That  wedded  we  may  win  again  delight! 
Still  I  am  Giorgione,  and  the  sin 
That  we  have  sinned  shall  be  painted  away 
With  holy  pictures    .    .    . 

Isotta.  Only  the  dead  are  holy, 

Or  they  who  die,  tho  living,  to  the  world. 

[Sees  the  picture. 


24  GIORGIONE 

And  eyes  have  looked  upon  me  — 
Hot  eyes  that  burn  my  body  up  with  shame. 
Farewell,  the  tide  will  cool  me,  the  lone  wave 
That  washes  in  from  Lido  to  my  grave. 

[Looks  toward  the  Campo  Santo. 

Giorgione.    Isotta! 

Isotta   (fainter).        Night,  the  Night!    .    .    . 
Giorgione.  O    stay!    .     .    . 

Isotta  (in  a  fixed  vision).  It  conies, 

The  Gondola!  (as  if  to  an  unseen  Presence)  Row  on, 
row  on. 

[She  dies.  He  sinks  beside  her  stricken  and  still. 

GIGIA  enters. 

Gigia.    Messer  Giorgione,  one  has  come  to  say— 
[Sees  them,  goes  near  and  lifts  ISOTTA'S  hand. 

Then,  dropping  it  with  terror. 

The  plague!   the  plague!   Ah! 
Giorgione  (rising).  Woman,  is  it  true? 

[  GIGIA  flees. 


GIORGIONE  25 

(Mortally  moved) 

Isotta,  this  kiss  then  of  all  the  kisses 

That  I  have  slain  thee  with  will  God  who  dwells 

In  universal  chastity  forgive. 

[He  kneels  and  presses  his  lips  fervently  to  hers. 

CURTAIN 


ARDUIN 


CHARACTERS 

ARDUIN  (of  Provence)  An  Alchemist 

ION H is  Nephew 

RHASIS An  Arab,  his  attendant  and  assistant 

MYRRHA  ,    .  A  Greek  Girl 


ARDUIN 

TIME:  The  Fifteenth  Century. 
PLACE:  Egypt. 

SCENE  :  The  laboratory  of  ARDUIN  in  a  house  on  Nile 
opposite  Cairo.  It  is  a  large  room  on  the  walls 
of  which  mystic  figures  of  the  Hermetic  philosophy 
are  drawn,  together  with  the  zodiac  and  other 
astronomical  signs;  and  many  strange  objects, 
animal  and  mineral,  are  to  be  seen  placed  about. 
In  the  rear  centre  is  a  large  sarcophagus.  On 
either  side  broad  window  openings  reveal  the  Egyp 
tian  night,  and  one  frames  the  moonlit  Sphinx 
andPyramids.  Toward  the  right  front  is  a  furnace 
with  alembics,  retorts,  etc.;  right  and  left  are 
doors,  and  on  the  left  and  back  another  alcove 

before  which  hang  curtains.    Lamps  burn. 
29 


30  ARDUIN 

RHASIS,  who  is  busy  about  the  furnace,  in  a 
troubled  manner,  lifts  a  skull  and  is  gazing  at 
it,  when  ION  enters  suddenly  and  stops,  pale 
with  purpose. 
Ion.    Rhasis  — 

Rhasis  (starting  and  looking  round) .  Young  master 
Ion!    what  is  this? 

[Drops  the  skull. 

Why  have  you  left  the  city  and  come  here? 
Are  you  aware  what  hour  you  have  chosen? 
Ion.  That  of  his  dreams.    I  learned  today:  yet 

came. 

Rhasis.    And  wherefore? 
Ion.  To  restrain  calamity, 

Which  must  await  his  reasonless  belief  — 
And  to  regain  his  love  that  I  have  lost. 

Rhasis.  And  have  not  pondered  what  calamity 
Would  fall  on  you 
Who  would  not  learn  his  Art, 
But  from  its  heritage  to  penury  turned, 
If  here  and  now  he  saw  you 


ARDUIN  3i 

At  this  hour 

When  he  believes  that  he  shall  raise  the  dead? 
Ion.    His  curse;  for  he  would  think  me  come 

to  thwart  him, 

And  that  I  had  forgot  whatever  wrong, 
Unexpiated  still,  my  father  did  him; 

[Looks  at  sarcophagus. 

And  yet  I  will  not  go,  for  I  have  purposed  — 
And  you  tonight  shall  help  me  —   (pauses) 

Rhasis.  Unto  what? 

Ion.  Forgiveness  of  my   disobedience  — 
That  may  be  won  from  him  with  Myrrha's  face. 

Rhasis.  Myrrha's! 

Ion.  Which  can  alone  of  earthly 

sights, 

If  what  you  tell  of  his  dead  wife  be  true: 
And  well  you  know  it  is !  —  He  must  behold  her  — 
And    hear    our    pleading. 

Rhasis.  At  an  hour  like  this! 

Ion.   Let   her   be   placed   yonder   within    those 
curtains, 


32  ARDUIN 

While  he  is  mingling  here  his  mysteries, 
And  when  he 

Khasis.  By  the  Prophet  who  is  Allah's, 
Myrrha!    Within  this  chamber!  and  tonight! 

[Ion  goes  to  the  door  and  leads  Myrrha  in. 
Is  there  no  heed  in  youth  or  hesitation, 
But  only  hurrying  want!    Do  you  not  know 
He  is  without  there,  at  this  moment,  saying 
Unto  the  seven  planets  in  their  spheres, 
The  seven  incantations  against  death? 
And    that    he 

Ion.  I  know  only  he  must  see  her. 

Rhasis.   And  of  all  nights  in  the  world,  only 
tonight! 

Myrrha.   No,  Ion!  let  us  go.     I  fear  this  place, 
Its  strangeness  and  that  still  sarcophagus 
Appal  me. 

Ion.  And  make  you  forget  our  love, 

And  the  long  bridal-hope  of  it  deferred? 

Rhasis.  Young  master,  she  does  not,  in  pen 
ury  too! 


ARDUIN  33 

But  pleas  tonight  would  ope  no  nuptial  way. 
Better  than  you  I  know  it  is  not  wise. 
For  ten  years  is  it 
I  have  dwelt  with  him 

While  he  has  sought  in  vain  this  great  Elixir. 
Ten  passings  of  the  pilgrims  off  to  Mecca 
His  wife  has  lain  in  that  sarcophagus, 
Embalmed  and  waiting,  as  he  thinks,  to  rise. 
And  now,  this  hour,  he  hopes  that  it  shall  be. 

Ion.   And  should  it,  will  he  not  the  more  forgive 

me? 

Or  should  it  not,  then  seeing  Myrrha's  face, 
Myrrha  whom  you  have  said  is  so  much  like  her, 
Will  he  not- 

Myrrha.       Ion,    no!    but    might  —  I    fear! 
So  fond  his  grief  is  and  unfaceable! 
Let  us  return  again  unto  the  city 
And  to  my  kindred  who  will  hold  us  dear. 

(Starting. 

Listen,  is  it  not  he?     (Rhasis  goes  to  window) 
Take  me  away! 


34  ARDUIN 

Ion.    And  have  him  at  the  breaking  of  his  dream 
With  none  near  —  and  our  love's  desire  be  lost? 

Myrrha.  It  will  not:  let  us  wait  another  time! 

Ion.   Than    this   when   most   your   face   would 

deeply  move  him? 

I  cannot,  and  'twould  shame  me!  for  you  know 
How  dear  to  him  is  his  dead  wife  who  lies  there, 

[Takes  her  hand. 

And  know  our  severed  days! 

And  shall  we  bend  the  knee  to  cowardice, 

Which  ever  has  a  premonition  ready, 

When  you  who  are  so  like  her  might  tonight  - 

[She   starts    back,  for    RHASIS,    exclaiming, 
leaves  the  window. 

Rhasis.   He  comes. 

Ion.  Now? 

Rhasis.  Go:  or   take   this  on 

yourselves. 

Ion.   Upon  me  be  it!    For  there  is  no  rest 
Until  his  pardon  weds  us  —  and  I  pay  him. 


ARDUIN  35 

Rhasis.  Then  but  a  word  remains,  young  mas 
ter,  more: 

To  tell  you  —  that  I  fear  —  lest  thro  long  toil, 
His  mind.     .     .    . 
Myrrha.   Oh!   (recoils) 

Ion.       It  is  not  true!    .    .    .    No  Myrrha!  no! 
[Takes  her  in  his  arms. 
And  is  ingratitude  I  scorn  to  heed. 

[Turns  away. 
Come  then  and  by  your  beauty's  likeness  win  him. 

[He  leads  her  behind  the  curtains  then  goes, 
door  left.  A  moment,  which  leaves  RHASIS 
distraught,  and  ARDUIN  enters.  He  pauses, 
as  if  at  some  presence;  then,  gazing  on  the 
sarcophagus,  shudder's  with  hope  and  comes 
down. 

Arduin.  The  night  at  last  when  I  again  shall 

clasp  her 

And  banish  death  to  biers  beyond  the  stars! 
Rhasis  (kneeling).  Master! 


36  ARDUIN 

Arduin.  Rise  up  and  never 

kneel  again! 
For  from  henceforth 
I  shall  be  lord  of  life, 
The  secret  of  the  phoenix  in  my  hand. 

[Lifts  an  alembic. 

Gray  have  I  grown  in  quest  of  it  and  old, 
Youthless  and  as  a  leper  to  delight, 
But  it  has  come  at  last  —  at  last  has  come! 

[Sets  vessel  down. 

Rhasis.  And  I  rejoice,  master,  for  I  have  toiled 
With  you  these  many  years  —  but  is  it  sure? 

Arduin.  As  the  moon  is  in  heaven!  as  the  skies! 

[In  an  ecstasy. 
For  last  night  I  beheld 
In  dreams  deeper  than  day  how  it  must  be. 
I  saw  a  tomb  far-hidden  in  the  earth 
And  Life  within  it 
Mixing  salt  and  sulphur  — 
Twin  elements 
O£  the  great  trinity. 


ARDUIN  37 

I  saw  her  hands  pour  out  quick  mercury 
Upon  a  bat's  wing  wrought  with  hieroglyphics, 
And  then  I  saw  her  cast  in  gold  and  silver 
That  melted  with  strange  voice  and  sudden  flame, 
The  while  she  gazed  on  me  most  meaningly. 
And  then    .    .     .    when  all  was  done.     .    .    . 

[The  vision  consuming  him. 
My  wife,  my  Rhea,  lit  with  loveliness 
And  as  a  spirit  clad  with  resurrection, 
Rose  up   within   my  dream     .     .     .     fair,   young 

and  glad!    .     .     . 

Rhasis.   But,  master     .     .     .     are  dreams  true? 
Arduin.  Such  dreams  as  these? 

[Kindling. 
Rhasis.   Pardon!    I  know  not  —  only  that  you 

say 

Some  come  of  Ophiuchus  — 

The  demon  you  have  warned  me  of  —  who  oft 
With  thwarting  laugh  has  struck  the  secret  from 

you.    .    .    . 
Many  before  have  followed  the  mirage 


38  ARDUIN 

Of  dreams  —  but  to  more  thirst:  trust  not  too 

much! 
Arduin.   But  fear?  fear?  you  are  falling  from 

me  too? 
Like  Ion  the  son  of  him  who    .    .    .    you?  you 

too? 
At  the  prime  moment? 

Rhasis.  No,   my   master,   no! 

But  I  would  spare  you  pain  unbearable. 
Arduin.  Ha!  and  believe  —  you  do?  —  that  all 

wise  men 

Of  all  the  world  could  so  have  been  deceived? 
Believe  —  do,  do?  —  that  she  cannot  arise? 
Did  not  great  Hermes  say  of  the  Elixir 
It  should  be  found  — 
And  did  not  Polydos, 

The  Greek,  chancing  upon  it,  raise  his  friends 
In    battle    slain?    .    .    . 
Did  not  the  Jew  of  Galilee,  the  Christ, 
Whom  even  you  name  Prophet,  likewise  win  it? 

[Peacelessly . 


ARDUIN  39 

Speak! 

Rhasis.  Master,    yes!    .     .     .    But    O!    trust 

not  too  much. 

Wiser,  I  know,  than  all  Arabia 
Are  you  —  like  to  Mahomet  —  were  it  not 
That  you  have  set  within  your  heart  a  woman. 
But  if,  perchance,  the  Elixir  does  not  prove 

Arduin.  Availing?    Have  not  all  things  pointed 

to  it? 

The  day  she  died 
Did  I  not  hear  a  voice 

That  breathed  into  my  brain  she  should  arise? 
And  as  I  waited  did  a  book  of  wisdom 
Not  chance  into  my  hands  to  show  the  way? 
Were  the  first  words  I  read  not,  In  ten  years 
The  miracle  shall  come  — 
Revealed  to  you  within  the  land  of  the  Sphinx? 

Rhasis.  So   read   it,   so!    But 

Arduin.  Is   this   not   that   land? 

Are  not  those  stones  the  pyramids  that  thro 
The  ages  have  stood  waiting  for  this  hour  — 


40  ARDUIN 

When  I  shall  bring  her  beauty  back ,  today? 
Is  not  that  face  the  Sphinx, 
Whose  timeless  and  interoperable  meaning 
No  man  has  read  in  desert,  star,  or  sea, 
But  which  must  be  the  secret  I  unsphere? 

Rhasis.   O  master! 

Arduin.      Fail,  fail,  fail?  now  to  restore  her? 
Who  died  as  you  shall  know,  here  ere  she  rises, 
Because  my  brother  —  aieh!  the  father  of  Ion  — 
Who  bore  as  well  that  name  — 
Desiring  her,  vilely  accused  her  — 

Myrrha  (involuntarily,  behind  curtains).   Oh!  .  . 

Arduin  (bewildered}.    Who  spoke?    It  was  her 
voice? 

[Runs   to   sarcophagus. 

Rhasis.  No,  master,  no!    ... 

Arduin   (slowly  returning}.    Fail,  fail   to  bring 

her  fairness  from  the  tomb! 
Her  face  which  can  alone  sow  finitude's 
Fell  desolation  with  enverdured  dreams 
And  fill  the  ways  of  the  world  again  with  hope? 


ARDUIN  41 

I  tell  you  she  eternal  must  arise  — 
Tho  God  die  for  it! 

[Begins  to  gird  himself. 
Must!    .     .    .    and  the  hour  is  now!  — 
Venus  is  in  the  house  of  ready  Taurus, 
The  moon  is  full,  and  as  I  toiled  today, 

[Goes  to  furnace. 

From  the  alembic  a  strange  cloud  arose, 
And  once  again  her  face!    .     .    .    Prepare!   pre 
pare! 

Rhasis.  I  will  do  all  you  say.    But,  master,  if 

Arduin  (immitigably) .    No  death- word  more  of 

doubt.    It  is  the  power 
Which  holds  us  futile  from  omnipotence. 
Mete  out  the  sulphur 
Into  the  alembic 
Of  Cleopatra's  crystal. — I  must  see  her! 

[Rhasis  hastens. 

See  her  again,  my  Rhea,  as  she  was, 
When  plucking  first  the  poppies  of  Provence! 
And  hear  flow  from  her 


42  ARDUIN 

Words  sweeter  than  Memnon's  in  the  wind  of  dawn! 
Here's  gold  and  silver  (hands  them).   She  shall  rise 

and  say: 

"Years  pale  you,  pale  your  brow,  my  Arduin, 
And  touch  to  gray  the  treasure  of  your  hair, 
But  not  Antinous  could  be  so  fair 
To  me  —  or  wonderful : 
For  you  have  brought  me  from  the  cold  tomb  to 

life!    .    .    . 

The  bat's  wing  then!    And  to  the  sarcophagus 
To  lift  its  lid !  for  I  will  wait  no  longer  — 

[ Takes  alembic,  as  Rhasis  obeys,  and  continues 

inwkingly: 

But  now,  vial  of  immortality! 
By  the  presaging  of  the  seven  planets, 
And  by  the  searchless  sources  of  the  Nile, 
And  by  the  prayers  of  Christian  and  of  Heathen, 
And  by  the  elements  earth,  air  and  fire, 
That  hold  within  their  intermingled  veins 
The  secret  of  illimitable  life  — 
By  fate  and  time  and  God  —  I  here  conjure  you 


ARDUIN  43 

Bring  forth  the  Elixir  which  shall  make  her  rise! 
[He  pours  the  ingredients,  and  quickly  fumes 
arise.  They  clear  and  a  liquid  is  seen  in 
the  bottom  of  the  glass.  With  a  cry  he 
starts  toward  the  sarcophagus,  when 
Myrrha's  face  —  which,  excited,  has  parted 
the  curtains  —  stops  him  enspelled.  Rhasis, 
unnerved,  quits  the  room  —  leaving  them 
agaze. 

Arduin  (at  length,  as  if  to  a  spirit). 
I  do  not  dream?    .    .    .    you  have  arisen?    .    .    . 
Rhea! 

[Starting  toward  her. 

Arisen  ere  I  touched  you?  —  O  fear  not! 
For  I  am  Arduin !  do  you  not  know  me? 

[She  trembles  speechless. 

0  wonderful   awaking!    O    ...    at   last! 
Thoyet  the  memory  of  the  tomb  is  on  you!    .     .     . 
This  land  is  Egypt,  whither  in  my  grief 

1  brought  you,  my  dead  bride!    Look  on  me!    see! 

[Stops  quickly. 


44  ARDUIN 

But  no,  not  yet!  until  my  youth  comes  back, 

As  now  it  will, 

Over  the  sea  from  France! 

Already  passion  lifts  away  the  years 

That  weight  its  wings  and  I  am  as  I  was. 

Now  gaze  upon  me,  now!    Is  it  not  I? 

Myrrha.  Sir — ! 

Arduin.       Sir!  O  quickly  see.    For  to  my  breast 
Again  has  striving  brought  you,  to  my  bosom! 
The  bitter  nights  are  ended  —  the  blind  pits 
Sleepless  and  infinite.    Awake!  stare  not 
So  strangely!  press  your  lips  in  praise  to  mine, 
Your  breast  upon  my  breast!     .     .     .     Delay  you 
still? 

Myrrha.   0  sir  —  ! 

Arduin.     See,  see!  the  years  have  been  too  long. 

[Clasps  her,  dropping  alembic. 
My  arms  have  waited  an  infinitude. 

[She   struggles. 
Do  you  not  now  remember  with  my  lips 


ARDUIN  45 

To  yours,  the  brimming  beauty  of  our  youth? 

Myrrha.  Release  me! 

Arduin.  Awake  and  know  me!    It  is  I! 

Your  lover  Arduin  whom  once  you  wooed: 
Whose  every  word  was  to  you  as  a  wind 
Of    God!    whose    every    kiss.    .    .    .    Do    you 
not  see? 

Myrrha.  No,  no!  I'm  not  your  love  — 

Arduin.  Not  — ?   You  uprisen? 

Has  the  tomb  treachery  to  change  the  soul? 
Ye  skies,  must  I  go  mad  now  at  this  moment 
When  I  have  brought  her  back  from  destiny? 
Not    mine?    .    .    .    Awake!    Oblivion    enthralls 
you. 

[Suddenly  starting  from  her. 
Or  is  it  that  there  in  the  grave,  another  — ? 

Myrrha.  No,  no!  but  — 

Arduin.  Ha,  then!  if  not  —  if  it  be 

not  — 

Is  it  that  here  returned  you  wish  another? 
You  who  so  gaze  upon  my  goaded  brow 


46  ARDUIN 

And  face  grown  old  with  toil  to  conquer  death? 
O  youth  ruthless  to  age!  e'en  tho  its  furrows 
Were  got  for  your  delight!  —  Ingratitude!  — 
Have  I  so  hungered  thro  long  years  to  pluck 
A  flower  of  Hell  back  to  the  light!    ...    No, 

No! 

It  cannot  be!    .    .     .    You  shall  be  mine! 
Myrrha  (in  terror).  Sir,  sir! 

Arduin.  Mad  will  I  be,  as  they  have  thought  me, 

mad 

In  holding  that  which  I  have  given  life. 
Myrrha.  But  you  mistake!    ...    I  am  not 
what  you  think. 

Hear  me,  for  I  love  one  who 

Arduin.  Is   not  —  I? 

[As  to  invisible  judges. 
You  hear  her  say  it? 

Myrrha.  O,  I  love  but  Ion, 

Your- 

Arduin.  Ion,  my  brother!    Then,  God!  it  was 
true, 


ARDUIN  47 

And  being  true  thy  Heaven  is  but  a  brothel! 

She  was  unfaithful  to  me,  as  he  said! 

And  in  the  other  world  has  met  and  clasped  him! 

Myrrha.   No,  let  me  speak! 

Arduin.  And  spurn  me  more  with  it? 

Shall  I  abide  mockery  like  a  mummy! 
Ha-ha!  (A  laugh  that  racks  him.) 
Years  but  to  hear  her  say  that  she  loves  him! 
To  see  her  come  back  from  the  grave,  where  she 
Has  still  embraced  him,  still  —  and  to  my  face, 
On  which  the  rage  of  sleepless  toil  is  wrought, 
Tell  me.    ... 

She  shall  die  for  it!  God,  whose  stars 

Are  vermin,  she  shall  die! 

Myrrha.  O ! 

Arduin  (frenziedly) .  Die,  die,  die! 

As  trustless  women  should:  until  no  womb 
Of  lies  is  left  in  the  world!    Die,  and  be  shut 
Again  into  the  curst  sarcophagus 
From  whence  I  brought  her    .    .    . 

Myrrha  (in  his  grasp) .   Sir !  —  help !  —  sir !  do  not  I 


48  ARDUIN 

O,  I  will  love  you! 

Arduin.          Liar!  and  turn  from  him 
Whom  you  betrayed  me  for  —  and  swear  again 
False  love  to  me?    Then    ...    in  the  tomb 
do  it! 

[Begins  to  choke  her. 
Myrrha.  0! 
Arduin.  Aieh!  cry  out  to  him!  will  he 

not  help  you? 
Myrrha.  Ion! 

Arduin.          That  word  withering  in  your  throat 
Shall  stale  you  past  all  hope  of  resurrection. 

[Strangles    her  —  and    then    looks  around. 
So,  it  is  dgne.     .    .    .    And  now,  back  to  your 

tomb, 

Which  I  will  bury  in  the  desert  sands 
So  deep  that  not  eternity  can  find  it. 

[Begins  to  draw  her  toward  sarcophagus. 
And  yet  (stopping  stricken]  all  is  not  well    .    .    . 
I  now  could  weep. 

[With  lone  anguish. 


ARDUIN  49 

I  know  not  wherefore  —  only  that  my  heart 
Is  wounded  and  seems  bleeding  o'er  the  hours 
That  I  must  live!    .    .    .    O  Rhea!    .    .    .    O, 
my  love! 

[Strangely  kissing  her. 
Do  you  not  hear  the  nightingale  that  sang 
The  song  of  our  betrothal  in  Provence? 
It    sits    upon.    .    .    . 

[Changing  again. 

Accursed    face!    accurst!    forevermore! 

Within  the  tomb  lie   (dragging  her)   blind,  deaf, 

motionless, 
Until  - 

[Looking  into  the  coffin  becomes  transfixed, 
while  MYRRHA'S  limp  body  slips  slowly 
from  his  arms.  He  gazes  at  her,  at  his 
wife,  and  tries  to  understand.  But  can 
not,  and  so,  standing  long  troubled,  moans: 

I  am  not  well;  perchance  Rhasis  will  come 
And  tell  me  what  it  is  that  I  desired. 


So  ARDUIN 

Men  should  not  toil  o'ermuch;  there's  madness 
in  it. 

[Then   seeing   MYRRHA'S  face  and   starting 

from  it  wildly: 

Rhasis!    Rhasis!    Rhasis!    .    .    .    Oh-oh-oh-oh! 
[Runs  madly  off  right,  as  ION  and  RHASIS 
enter  left.     They  look  around,  see  MYRRHA 
and  rush  to  her  —  with  a  cry. 

CURTAIN 


O-UME'S  GODS 


CHARACTERS 

O-UnE A  Samurai  Girl 

AHA Her  Servant,  an  old  woman 

SANKO A  Young  Samurai 

and 
A  YOUNG  JESUIT  PRIEST 


O-UME'S    GODS 

TIME:  The  Sixteenth  Century. 
PLACE:  Japan. 

SCENE:  A  room  in  the  house  of  0-Ume  in  a  province 
near  the  sea.  Its  shoji,  or  sliding  paper  doors, 
open  in  the  rear  upon  a  wistaria  arbor  over 
hanging  a  river,  upon  which  lighted  lanterns, 
sent  forth  on  the  night  of  the  Feast  of  the  Dead, 
are  dimly  floating;  while  the  moon  above  gleams 
upon  the  pale  distant  snow-cone  of  Fujiyama. 
The  room  with  its  deep  straw  mats  and  walls 
delicately  portrayed  with  pine  and  bamboo  has 
a  paper-paned  door  on  the  right  leading  to  a 
garden,  and  is  lighted  by  andon  —  one  beneath  a 
shrine  to  Buddha  on  the  left  wall,  and  one  to 
the  left  centre  where  O-UME  and  AMA  are  sitting 

S3 


54  O-UME'S  GODS 

on  their  heels,  constrained,  foreboding  and  verg 
ing  toward  inevitable  words. 

Ama  (at  length).  Down  to  the  sea!  the  sea! 
Oh  the  dead! 
Do  they  not  seem 
On  the  night  air  to  hover? 
There  by  the  lights 
Are  not  their  spirits  present? 
The  lights  lit  for  them? 

[O-UME  is  silent. 
All  our  ancestors  are  they! 
Fathers  and  mothers 
Of  many  lives  back! 
They  hear  us  speaking, 
They  hear  from  the  Buddha-shrine 
There  on  the  wall. 
They  see  us  thinking. 

[Meaningly. 

They  see  in  our  hearts! 

O-Ume  (who  trembles).     Be  silent!  silent! 


O-UME'S  GODS  55 

Ama  (bowing  but  continuing).  They  know  if  we 

care  for  them  — 
Know  as  the  wind 
That  visits  all  shoji, 
Know  as  the  night 
That  searches  all  places. 
Alas  for  the  son 
Who  does  not  honor  them! 
And  for  the  daughter 
Who  does  not  cherish  them! 
They  shall 

O-Ume.  Be  silent! 

[A  pause. 

Ama.  Alas  for  the  daughter! 

O-Ume  (who  rises  disturbedly) . 
The  lips  of  the  old 
Are  like  leaves  dying  — 
Leaves  of  Autumn 
That  ever  flutter! 

[Walks  about. 

Ama.  And  a  girl's  mind 


56  O-UME'S  GODS 

Is  like  the  dawn  mist  — 

Knowing  not  whither 

To  rest  or  wander  — 

Until,    perchance, 

It  clings  to  Fuji, 

To  Fuji  mountain, 

Lord  of  the  air! 

The  mind  of  a  girl     .     .     .    straying! 

And  what  is  O-Ume's?     .     .     .     whose? 

O-Uml.  It  is  O-Ume's! 

Ama.  Ail 

Not  Sanko's!     .     .    . 
But  were  I  she, 
O-Ume  the  fair, 
O-Ume  the  mist 
Of  happy  karmas, 
Sanko  should  be 
My  Fuji  mountain. 
Him  would  I  cling  to, 
Nor  would  I  hunger 
To  stray  far  from  him 


O-UMfe'S  GODS  57 

With  a  white  priest! 
To  stray  far  from  him 
To  foreign  gods 
That  hang  on  a  cross. 

[Again  bowing. 
Is  he  not  strong? 

O-Ume.  Be   silent! 

[To  herself,  troubled. 
The  lips  of  the  old! 
The  lips  of  the  old! 

Ama.  Is  he  not  brave? 

O-Ume.  I  care  not. 

A  samurai  is  he  — 
One  whose  sword  is  his  soul. 

Ama.  And  should  his  tongue  be 
Like  that  of  the  other, 
The  priest  of  the  pain-god? 

[Immovably. 
Is  he  not  kind? 
O-Ume.  He  is  kind. 


58  O-UME'S  GODS 

A  ma.  Kind!  as  O-Ume  is  cruel! 

O-Um&.  No,  but  as  men  are, 
Wanting  women: 
Yet  not  once  so  was  he! 
For  as  children 
We  caught  together 
The  June-night  fire-flies 
Out  by  the  shrine  of  Jiso. 

Ama.  And  then  he  loved  you, 
And  ever  has  loved  you, 
And  faithful  is  he! 

O-Umt.  Ai,   and   terrible!    .    .    . 

Ama.  Terrible  only 
Because  O-Ume 
Turns  from  her  fathers 
And  from  the  gods. 
She  sees  their  soul-ships 
Sail  to  the  sea  — 
The  lights  lit  for  them, 

[Motions  without. 
And  yet  she  offers 


0-UME'S  GODS  59 

No  cakes  of  welcome  — 
None  of  farewell! 
No  prayer  to  Buddha, 
Lotus-loving, 
And  none  to  Kwannon 
Who  is  all  mercy. 
But  inward,  inward 
She  turns  her  eyes 
To  see  this  stranger, 
Priest  of  the  Christ-god. 
Outward,  outward, 
Ever  she  gazes 
And  ever  listens, 
Ever,  for  him!     .    .    . 
Oh  false,  false  one! 
False  to  the  dead  — 
False  to  Sanko!    .    .    . 

O-Ume  (more  distressedly) .  The  words  of  the  old 
Are  like  the  leaves, 

[Her  voice  breaks. 
Like  Autumn  leaves 


60  O-UME'S  GODS 

That  ever  flutter. 

Ama.  And  those  of  the  young 

O-Ume  (becoming  distraught).    Oh  will  she  hush 
not!    .     .     . 
Will  this  servant, 
Whom  my  mother 
Dying  left   me, 
Waste  my  heart  so? 

[Weeps  in  her  sleeve. 
Sanko  I  fear, 
And  fears  of  many 
Worlds  crowd  round  me  — 
Many  karmas 
Of  pain  and  passion, 
Births  and  rebirths. 

Ama.  And  'tis  because 
This  evil  priest 
Stands  in  the  door  of  your  heart. 

O-Ume.  Will  you  revile  him! 

Ama.  Cursed  be  he! 

O-Ume.  Ama! 


O-UME'S  GODS  61 

A  ma.  I  pray  it! 

[Rises  slowly. 
And  curst  he  shall  be. 

[O-Ume  stares  trembling. 
For,  O  blind  one, 
By  him  blinded, 
Do  you  not  know 
The  people  have  heard 
How  he  has  bid  you 
Cast  away  from  you 
The  gods  of  your  house? 
The  blessed  Buddha 
And  all  the  tablets 
Kept,  ancestral? 
Ai,  they  have  heard 
And  tonight  have  risen! 
This  night  of  the  dead 
They  have  gone  forth, 
With  Sanko  to  lead  them  — 
Gone  to  tear  down 
The  house  of  the  priest! 


62  O-UME'S  GODS 

Gone  to  destroy 

The  image  he  worships! 

Gone   to 

0-Ume   (stricken).  Ama! 

[Shrinks  from  her  and  then  speaks  wanly. 
Never  is  there 
Trust  in  any? 
Only  faith  that  fades? 
This  was  known  — 
But  kept  from  me, 
Kept  in  silence, 
Kept  for  Sanko?    .    .    . 
O  lord  Buddha, 
Thou,  or  Christ, 

Is  there  peril? 

[Turns  on  her. 
You  have  done  ill! 

A  ma.  I  have  done  well. 

O-Ume.  111!  and  ill  shall  come  to  you! 
For  do  you  think 
So  to  prevent  me 


O-UME'S  GODS  63 

From  my  fate-way? 

No,  I  will  find  it! 

The  Buddha  and  all 

The  tablets  ancestral 

Will  I  take  down  from  the  wall, 

And  from  me  cast  them 

Into   the   river.     .     . 

They  shall  float  down  to  the  sea. 

[Turns  and  goes  to  shrine. 
Ama.  O-Ume!    0-Ume! 

[Catching  at  her  kimono. 
The  gods  forsaken 
Will  pardon  never! 
The  gods  —  and  the  people! 
You  will  become 
Eta,  an  outcast, 
From  them  driven  away. 
O-UmeL 

[The  girl  takes  the  shrine. 
Remember  your  father 
Dead,  and  your  mother. 


64  O-UME'S  GODS 

They  are  hovering 
Round  your  fingers, 
Faint,  offended! 
Will  you  pause  not? 

[When  O-Ume  continues. 
Ah  for  Sanko!  for  Sanko! 

[Runs  calling  to  door. 
Sanko!    Sanko! 

[O-Ume  stops   motionless. 
Sanko!    .    .    . 

O-Ume  (after  a  pause).  He  waits  then  there? 
A  Voice  (without}.  Ama!  (nearer)  Ama!    .     .    . 
[SANKO   enters  from   the  garden,  dishevelled 
and    breathless,    but    controlled.     As    he 
does  so  O-UME  drops  the  shrine  and  the 
image  falls   out. 
Sanko.  O-Ume!    O-Ume! 

[Ama  goes  quickly  out. 
O-Ume  (again  motionless).  Honourable  friend! 

[With  polished  anger. 
You  dwell  in  my  garden? 


O-UME'S  GODS  65 

And  is  my  house 
Even  as  your  house? 

Sanko.  Be  pleased  to  pardon!    .    .    . 

O-Ume.  And  you  conspire  here 
With  Ama  against  me? 

Sanko.  O-Ume  knows 
The  samurai's  honour. 

O-Ume.  O-Ume    thought    so, 
But  does  no  longer! 

Sanko.  Ah  the  plum-blossom! 
Then  it  too 
Has  thorns  and  poison? 

O-Ume.  Yes,  for  the  hand  of  Sanko! 
Knowing  the  deed 
From  whence  he  comes. 
Knowing    that    .     .     . 

[Breaks  off,  tensely, 
Where  is  the  priest's  house? 

Sanko  (angrily).  Cast  hi  the  river! 

O-Ume.  Ai,  for  I  see 
The  blood  on  your  hand 


66  O-UME'S  GODS 

From  the  torn  rafters! 

Red,  red  blood 

Of  a -deed  of  fury. 

So  I  tell  you, 

Samurai  rude, 

Not  for  one  life, 

Even  for  one, 

Will  I  be  yours. 

Please    ...    to  leave  me. 

[He  looks  at  his  hand  and  is  going. 
And  yet    .     .     .     (as  he  stops)     .    .    .    not  thus ! 

[She  struggles. 
The  priest  would  bid  me 
Bind  up  your  wound. 
And  you  were  once 
Sanko  my  friend !  — 
Put  forth  your  hand! 

[He  does  so. 

The  blood 

Sanko  (with  sudden  fierceness) .  The  blood  is  his! 
[As  she  falls  back  with  a  cry. 


O-UME'S  GODS  67 

His!  I  have  slain  him! 

[Mockingly. 
And  did  his  ghost 
Not  come  here  flitting? 
Coldly  flitting? 
Here  with  moaning 
Does  it  not  hang 
Upon  the  roof-tree 
Hungering  for  you? 
He  lay  in  the  dark  — 
One  lay  with  him  — 
One  who  escaped  to  the  river. 
But  him  I  slew 
That  you  might  never 
Turn  from  the  Buddha 
And  from  your  fathers; 
Turn  dishonoured 
Of  all  who  greet  you. 

O-Ume  (speech  coming  at  last). 
Ah!    A-hi!    Slain!    .    .    . 
It  cannot  be! 


68  O-UME'S  GODS 

Sanko  (drawing  a  bloody  sword). 
And  is  this  wet  with  dew? 

O-Uml.  O  let  it  pierce 
Your  own  heart,  samurai! 
For  you  shall  never 
Again  know  peace. 
I  will  pray  to 
The  lord  of  Nippon, 
To  the  Shogun  - 
Who  gave  entrance 
Here  to  the  Christ-priest. 
Nay,  I  will  die 
Myself  that  ever 
You  may  be  hated 
By  your  own  heart. 

[Starts  toward  river. 
I  will  cast 

Myself  to  the  soul-world 
And  bid  the  dead 
To  bring  you  evil! 
Then  the  priest  shall.    .    . 


0-UME'S  GODS  69 

[Breaks  off — for  standing  in  the  arbour  is  the 
priest,  pale  and  spectral.  He  has  come 
up  to  the  steps  from  the  river.  At  the  sight 
SANKO  plucks  her  back,  as  if  from  a  ghost. 
A  pause,  then  the  priest  speaks  sacro- 
sanctly. 
The  Priest.  The  Christ  looks  on  you, 

[Lifts  a  crucifix. 
You,    a    murderer  — 
Tho  it  is  not 
I  you  have  murdered. 


One  slept  with  me, 

A  gentle  servant, 

Slept  in  my  cloak    .     .     . 

The  Christ  looks  on  you. 
He  will  forgive  you. 


[SANKO  gazes. 


you  have  slain  him. 
[Steps  forward. 


[A  pause. 


Sanko  (recovering).    Priest! 


70  O-UME'S  GODS 

The  Priest.  Forgive  you. 

[Holds  crucifix  toward  him. 

Sanko.    By  the  eight  million 
Gods,  he  mocks  me! 

[Dashes  it  to  floor. 
And  shall  perish 
Or  go  from  this  village! 

The  Priest.    Aye    .     .     .    but  only 
When  goes  this  maiden 
Whom  you  would  hold 
Still  to  her  idols. 
She  must  follow 
The  Cross  of  Heaven. 

Sanko.    She  shall  follow 
O  priest,  but  me. 

The  Priest.    Murderer,  pause!    .    .    . 
There  is  a  Hell 
Where  the  lost  burn 
Even  as  say  your  sutras. 

[Sanko  lifts  his  sword. 
Pause!  and  strike  not! 


O-UME'S  GODS  71 

The  smitten  Christ 

No  longer  holds 

My  hands  from  strife. 

[Towers  over  him. 
0-Ume,  I  bid  you 
Now  cast  away 
The  gilded  gods  you  have  worshipped. 

Sanko.    And  I  forbid 
O-Ume  to  move. 

•  0-Ume  (heedless  of  either).    And  I,  O-Umfe, 
O'er  whom  you  quarrel, 
And  whom  you  tear 
Twixt  Christ  and  Buddha, 
I,  O-Ume,  will  end  it. 

[Lifts  the  BUDDHA  from  the  floor,  and  the 

crucifix,  over  her  head. 
Be  all  the  gods  forsaken  — 
Even  as  these! 

[Goes  to  river  and  casts  them  in.    Then  meets 
their  horror  with  ever  increasing  passion. 
Be  all! 


72  O-UME'S  GODS 

And  be  you  gone 

Forevermore! 

For  if  again 

I  see  your  faces, 

If  again 

They  grieve  my  hours, 

If  again 

While  Fuji  stands  there  — 

The  river  shall  gulf  me,  too. 

I  swear  it  by  the  dead. 

[They  look  at  her  awed,  then  go  slowly,  silently 
out.  She  sinks  on  her  heels,  hands  folded, 
and  stares  before  her.  The  lights  on  the 
river  drift  on. 

CURTAIN 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 


CHARACTERS 

VISHWAMYA     .    .    .    A  Renowned  Ascetic 

RISHYAS His  Son,  a  Young  Saint 

SUNANDI      .    ...    An  Old  Woman  of  the  Court  of  the 

Rajah  of  Anga 
KOIL A  Young  Girl  of  the  Court 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

TIME:  The  antiquity  of  India. 

SCENE:  Before  the  hermitage  of  VISHWAMYA  and 
RISHYAS,  in  a  forest  near  the  Ganges.  It  is 
an  open  space  spread  with  kusa-grass  and  over 
hung  with  trees  —  the  hermitage  itself  being  a 
cell  constructed  of  earth  and  of  hanging  roots 
of  the  banyan,  and  having  by  it  an  altar  before 
which  lies  a  deer-skin.  Glimmering  lights  and 
running  water  penetrate  the  shadest  whose 
sacredness  is  soon  disturbed  by  the  appearance 
of  SUNANDI,  wantonly  compelling  KOIL,  with 
alternate  harshness  and  wheedling,  to  enter  with 
her. 


75 


76  THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

Sunandi  (peering  about).  The  place,  my  jewel- 
bird!  the  place  for  it! 
Under  these  boughs  of  peepul  and  asoka 
The  young  saint  dwells 
With  his  restraining  sire, 
Singing  the  Vedas  morning,  eve  and  noon, 
And  they  are  gone  somewhither  now  in  the  wood 
To  gather  fruit  for  sacrifice,  and  flowers. 

[With  a  leer. 
But  he,  the  boy,  will  soon  return,  my  pretty. 

Koil   (whom  she  has  released).  And  you  have 

drawn  me  from  the  city  here 
To  break  into  his  holy  breast  with  passion? 
To  dance  and  sing  and  seize  him? 
I  you  have  taught  the  wiles  of  winning  men, 
As  the  cobra-charmer  teaches, 
Must  lure  him  from  his  saintly  innocence, 
And  with  the  beauty  I  was  born  unto 
Must    tangle    him?    .    .    . 
You,  O  Sunandi,  are  an  evil  woman, 
To  lead  me  to  it! 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE  77 

Sunandi.  And  you  talk  as  flies  talk! 
Who  know  not  that  the  gods  sow  food  or  famine. 

[Harshly. 

I  tell  you  that  great  Indra  of  the  skies 

Is  wroth  with  us 

And  will  not  send  us  rain, 

So  wisest  Brahmins  vow  — 

Until  this  boy, 

This  saintly  one,  is  brought  unto  the  Raja! 

Are  we  to  die  because  not  otherwise 

Than  with  alluring  now  we  can  appease  them? 

[Leering    again. 

And  why  are  women  fair,  my  cunning  Koil, 

But  to  tempt  men  then,  when  they  seek  to  take  us 

Koil.  Sunandi! 

Sunandi.  It  is  so,  unwitted  girl! 

Be  silent  then 
And  do  what  I  command. 

[WJwedling   again. 


78  THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

But  it  will  be  sweet  doing,  beamy  Koil, 

For  the  young  saint 

Is  fairer  than  the  god-born, 

His  body  like  warm  gold  and  lotos-lithe  — 

Made  for  the  wants  that  tremble  in  your  heart. 

And  when  your  eyes  rest  on  him  they  will  kindle 

Like  passion-stars. 

Ko'il.  And  burn  away  his  peace — 

Which  is  the  pearl 
Of  sainthood  thro  all  worlds! 
Unless  his  father,  strange  and  terrible, 
And  mighty  thro  austerities — one  whose 
Curse  were  as  heavy  as  an  hundred  births  — ! 

0  let  us  trust  it  not!    So  young  a  saint 
Should  be  the  holy  mate  of  solitude. 

1  would  not  have  him  gaze  upon  me  so, 
For  he  is  innocent  of  love,  nor  ever 

As  yet  has  looked  upon  a  woman's  face. 
Sunandi.  Then  may  he  loathe  you  if  he  does 

not!  for 
Only  m  woman's  faces  is  there  beauty 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE  79 

And  who  beholds  not  beauty  is  as  dead. 

[Starts. 

But  ha?  'tis  he? 
No,  only  parakeets, 
Chattering  as  you  chatter,  idle  girl! 
Who  ever  were  resistant  to  my  teachings! 
I  tell  you  chirp  no  more  these  chastities! 
If  you  come  back  to  the  Raja 
And  without  him, 
Know  you  what  then  will  happen? 
Koil.  I  know  not. 

[Hears  a  voice. 

Nor  care  not.    I  will  return. 

Sunandi.  Stop,  girl. 

Kott.                                       I  will  not. 
All  others  will  I  tempt,  but 

Sunandi  (holding  her).      Him  will  lovel 

[RiSHYAS  slowly  approaches,  chanting. 

And  you  were  suckled  at  the  breast  of  fortune 
To  be  the  first  so  fair  a  saint  shall  look  on. 


80  THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

Use  well  your  charms  —  and  chain  him  with  en 
chantment. 

[Sees  the  girl  is  enthralled  by  the  voice  and  goes 
into  wood.    RISHYAS  soon  enters  opposite, 
laden  and  singing: 
Spirit  of  the  risen  sun! 
Now   returns   the   offering-hour. 
Fruit  I  bring  to  you  and  flower, 
Here  receive  them,  O  great  — 
[Breaks  ojf,  at  sight  of  her,  and  the  offerings 

fall  slowly  from  his  arms. 
Ko'il  (as  they  gaze  long  and  tremblingly). 

0  saint,  is  it  peace  with  you,  and  is  all  well? 
And  have  you  roots  and  fruit  enough  for  food; 
And  have  you  joy  in  singing  holy  Vedas 
Here  in  this  leafy-hearted  hermitage? 

Rishyas.  O  radiant  one,  yes  —  all  is  godly  well. 
But  whence  are  you? 
And  whither  do  you  go? 

1  have  dwelt  only  here,  and  not  before 
Have  I  beheld  so  fair  a  vision  fall  — 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE  81 

Even  from  skies  where  wing  the  Apsaras. 

Ko'iL  I  am  not  fair,  O  son  of  Vishwamya, 

[Timidly. 
But  I  have  come  from  very  far  away. 

Rishyas  (quickly).  And  I  have  offered  you  no 

laving-water 
For  hands  and  feet, 
Nor  any  fruit  and  herbs! 
Will  you  not  sit  upon  this  mat  of  kusa, 
Or  on  this  skin  of  the  wild  antelope, 
And  let  me  loose  your  sandals?  —  O  sweet  saint, 
For  saint  so  bright  an  one  must  be!  —  it  will 
Be  dear  to  touch  and  tend  you! 
For  in  this  place  I  have  beheld  no  other  — 
Only  my  father, 
Who  is  old  and  mighty 
In  meditations  he  would  have  me  mind. 
But  you  are  fair  as  well.    Will  you  not  sit? 

Ko'il.  No,  pious  one,  it  is  not  meet  for  me 
To  touch  the  holy  water  —  yet  I  thank  you. 

Rishyas.  Not  meet  for  you?    O,  unto  one  who  is 


82  THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

So  beautiful,  are  not  all  things  most  meet? 

Better  are  you,  I  know,  than  all  the  devas. 

And  tho  for  but  a  moment  I  have  seen  you, 

I  fain  would  follow 

The  holy  vows  you  follow. 

For  you  I  would  do  all  things.    When  I  gaze 

Upon  you  all  my  body  is  as  fire 

Upon  the  altar  when  I  sacrifice. 

Will  you  not  eat  or  drink? 

Koil.  Not  at  your  hands. 

But  see,  O  holy  one,  here  are  rare  cakes, 
Brought  with  me  from  afar,  and  here  is  soma, 
Sparkling  and  ready  with  divinity 
To  lift  whoever  drinks  of  it  to  joy. 
Drink  you  with  me! 

Rishyas.  O  gladly  will  I;  give  it. 

[Takes  the  flask;  drinks  deeply. 
A  wine  of  wonder  is  it  and  of  wisdom, 
For  now  it  makes  you  seem  even  more  fair 
Than  first  you  were. 
O  let  me  tend  about  you, 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE  83 

And  let  me  wreathe  your  brow  and  limbs  with 
flowers. 

[Takes  some  and  entwines  them  over  her. 
Koil  (trembling).  And  you  are  beautiful.    So  I 

will  weave 

Flowers  upon  you  too.    And  see,  and  see, 
O,  Rishyas,  see, 
For  I  will  dance  to  you  — 
The  dance  of  all  the  dreamers  in  the  world! 

[Unbinds  her  body-cloth  and  begins  to  dance 
—  slowly  at  first  then  more  alluringly, 
as  he  follows  her,  marvelling.  Then  at 
length  she  stops  close  up  to  him  and 
murmurs: 

Does  it  not  fill  your  heart,  O  Rishyas, 
With  longing? 

Rishyas.  Yes,  yes,  yes.    And  with   desire, 
I  know  not  why,  to  lay  my  lips  to  yours! 
Then  life,  it  seems,  would  burst  all  ill  that  binds  it. 
[Instinctively;  clasping  her. 
Oh  this  is  sweeter  than  all  other  joys 


84  THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

Of  holiness  that  I  have  ever  known. 
Your  voice  is  like  to  piping  of  the  koils 
That   play   in   spring. 

Koil.  And  Koil  am  I  named. 

Risky  as.  And  what  is  this  I  feel  for  you,  O  wise 

one? 

In  skies  from  whence  you  come,  what  is  its  name? 
So  pure  are  you  that  surely  you  can  tell  me? 

Ko'il.  O  holy  one,  the  people  call  it  love. 

Rishyas.  Then  is  love  better  than  all  other  bliss 
My  father's  meditations  ever  bring. 
And  I  will  seek  thro  all  the  lapse  of  lives 
To  hold  you  thus, 
And  have  your  arms  about  me, 
As  vines  about  the  asoka  clingingly. 
Happy  am  I  that  you  have  found  me  out, 
And  never  shall  you  leave  me. 

Koil.  No  — forever! 

[More  passionately. 

But  unto  the  city  you  shall  go  with  me 
And  there  with  Brahmin  rites  be  made  my  husband. 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE  85 

Rishyas.    Which   is  —  I   know   not   what  —  yet 

will  I  be 

Husband  and  more  to  you.    For  now  it  seems 
That  not  the  tiger  in  his  jungle-might, 
Nor  any  incarnation  terrible, 
Could  tear  you  from  me. 

Ko'il,  Then  come  quickly,  now, 

And  I  will  be  for  you  a  champa-flower, 
Swung  sweetly  and  forever  to  your  breast. 
And  often  will  I  dance  for  you  and  sing 
And  love  you,  Rishyas,  as  a  deva-queen! 
Come  quickly,  one  is  waiting  in  the  wood 
To  guide  us. 

Rishyas.    Yes,  O  yes!  (remembering)    But  stay! 

my   father! 
First  I  will  tell  him  I  have  won  this  wisdom. 

Ko'il.    No,  no! 

Rishyas.          Yes!    (calls)    Father!    father! 

Ko'il  (in  terror).  Rishyas,  no! 

But  come,  come  with  me  quickly. 

Rishyas  (astonished).  Do  you  fear? 


86  THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

Koil.  He  is  so  old!    .    .    .    You  guess  not  what 

you  do. 
Haste,  or  he  will  forbid. 

Risky  as.  You  know  him  not. 

For  I  will  tell  him  you  are  a  holier  saint 
To  guide  my  steps, 
Then  will  he  bid  me  go. 
Ho!  father!  ho! 

Viskwamya  (heard  ojf).     My  son,  you  call?    I 

come. 

Roll.    O,  I  must  flee— 
Rishyas  (dazed).    I  do  not  understand. 
Kott.  Sunandi!  Speak,  Sunandi! — Ah,  he  comes. 
[VISHWAMYA    enters    and    seeing    her    stops 
amazed.    SUNANDI  enters  behind  unseen. 
Deep  suspense. 
Rishyas  (uncomprehendingly) .  Do  you  see,  father, 

I  have  found  one  here 
Holy,  and  fairer  than  the  Apsaras. 
And  I  shall  follow  her,  she  is  some  goddess. 
For  I  desire  only  to  be  with  her, 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE  87 

And  she  has  taught  me  this  desire  is  love. 
O  and  I  love  her, 
And  tho  yet  I  know 
Not  well  what  miracle  love  is  in  me, 
Yet  it  is  better  than  this  hermitage. 
For  it  has  made  me  seem.    .    .    .    But  what 
burns  in  you? 

Vishwamya.    My  son,  you   are   beguiled.    Let 

go  her  hand 

That  leads  you  on  to  ruin.    Do  you  not 
Behold  what  manner  of  creature  you  so  clasp? 

Rishyas.    Yes,  yes — a  deva! 

Viskwamya.  Deva!    This  is  a  woman, 

And  women  like  the  wind  are  full  of  wiles, 
And  tempt  saints  to  abandon  Swerga's  rest. 
He  who  would  rule  his  mind  has  naught  with  them. 
Let  go  her  hand  and  send  her  away. 

Rishyas  (amazed).  Away! 

Never  shall  she  go  from  me  and  without  me. 
If  women  are  evil,  as  you  say,  she  is  not, 
Therefore  she  is  no  woman. 


88  THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

Vishwamya.  O  vain  boy! 

In  passion's  jungle!  Break  from  her  at  once! 

Rishyas.    I  will  not.     Her  I  worship,  holily. 
And  she  has  given  me  a  drink  of  heaven 
That  has  diffused  deity  in  my  limbs. 

Vishwamya.    And    death,  and    an    eternity    of 

births !- 

These  flowers  (on  his  neck}  and  her  feigning  have 
bewitched  you! 

[Seizes  them. 
I  tear  them  off  and  trample  them  to  earth. 

Kotl.    Rishyas!    Rishyas! 

Rishyas.  Be    not    afraid,    my    Koil; 

He  is  my  father 
And  he  knows  you  not, 
For  did  he,  he  would  clasp  you,  as  I  clasp. 
Or  it  may  be  that  he  is  little  pleased 
Because  I  find  you  holier  than  he. 

0  father,  peace.     Control  your  mind.     Farewell. 

1  go  with  her. 

Vishwamya.  Beguiled  boy!  you  shall  not. 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE  89 

Thro  all  these  years  I  have  not,  from  its  lair, 
Unloosed  black  anger. 
But  this  evil  one 

And  your  desire  to  follow  ways  of  flesh 
Compel  me.    Come,  come  from  her! 
Rishyas.  I  will  never. 

Vishwamya.  Then  must  I  drag  you  —  and  drive 
her  away. 

[Strikes  KOIL. 
Away,  lust- thing!  away! 
Rishyas.  Oh,   oh!    Oh,   oh! 

[In   horror. 

A  demon  enters  into  you  and  dupes  you 
To  strike  her  thus,  a  holy  one.     Restrain! 
Vishwamya.  No,   tho  I   slay  her! 
Rishyas.  Slay?    O  wickedness! 

[Seizes  up  wood  of  sacrifice. 
Must  I  beat  off  your  hands?  —  Touch  her  no  more. 
Vishwamya.  Wild- vaunting  boy!  the  drink  and 

this  vile  girl 
Have  maddened  you.     (To  Ko'il)    Away! 


90  THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

Risky  as.  Call  her  not  vile! 

Viskwamya.  Viler  is  she  than  sin! 

[Again  strikes  her. 

Rishyas  (uncontrollably}.  You  do  a  death-deed. 

[Falls  on  him  with  the  weapon  and  fells  him 

quickly  to  the  ground  —  then  recoils  with  a 

cry.     The  old  man  strives  vainly  to  rise. 

Ko'il.  Oh,  oh!  —  what  have  you  done! 

Vishwamya  (mortally  hurt}.    Slain    .     .     .    slain 

his  father! 

And      lost      enlightenment    .     .     .    and      peace 
.    .     .    forever! 

[After  a  struggle,  terribly. 
But  not  to  gorge  upon  the  fruit  of  sin! 

[Turning   on   KOIL. 

The  curse  of  bitter  karmas  be  upon  you! 
May  you  be  born  a  worm  and  crawl  in  slime, 
A  serpent  thro  ten  score  of  lives,  and  slough 
Your  skin  in  hideousness  and  hate  and  horror! 
Koti.  Oh,  oh! 
Viskwamya.  At  every  death  may  you  despair 


THE  IMMORTAL  LURE  91 

Of  ever  acquiring  merit! 
Risky  as  (terrified).   Father! 
Vishwamya  (to  him).  Aye! 

[His    strength  failing. 

For  love,  blood-guilty  boy,  the  love  which  she 
Has  slipped  into  your  heart,  is  the  curse  of  the 

world, 

The  immortal  lure  of  all  the  generations! 
Your  arms  have  ached  with  it  about  her  body, 
But  know  that  in  the  city  whence  she  came 
All  evil  men  feel  in  their  hearts  this  ache. 
And  that  you  may  escape  from  it,  know  this: 
Not  your  arms,  yours  alone,  have  been  entwined 
About  this  poison-flower  —  but,  perchance, 

[Sinking  back. 
The  arms  of  many. 

Rishyas  (starting  painedly).  What  is  it  he  means? 
[With  emotions  he  does  not  understand. 
Koil,  what  has  he  said? 
Kott.  O  let  me  go! 


92  THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

Rishyas.  The  arms  of  many?  that  can  not  be  true? 
[Tortured  by  half-born  thoughts. 
O,  have  I  fallen  into  demon-snares? 
Is  beauty  not  the  bloom  of  piety? 
Speak. 

Koil.  I  would  go! 

Rishyas.  Pain!    only   darker   pain! 

Ko'il  (at  length  overwhelmed).  I  am  not  holy  — 

nor  am  I  pollution! 

But  only  one  sent  hither  —  O,  the  gods 
Bid  us  to  sin,  then  fell  us  with  calamity! 

[Hurries  weeping  off  with  SUNANDI,  who  has 
stood  in  terror.  RISHYAS  stands  dazed, 
then  comprehension  dawns  upon  him  and 
he  falls  by  his  father's  body  in  a  storm  of 
anguish. 


THE   END 


MANY  GODS 

By 
CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

THESE  poems  are  flashingly,  glowingly 
full  of    the    East.    .    .    .    What  I 
am  sure  of  in  Mr.  Rice  is  that  here 
we  have  an  American  poet  whom  we  may 
claim  as  ours."    The  North  American  Review 
(William  Dean  Howells). 

"Mr.  Rice  has  the  gift  of  leadership.     . 
and  he  is  a  force  with  whom  we  must  reckon." 
The  Boston  Transcript. 

.  .  .  "We  find  here  a  poet  who  strives 
to  reach  the  goal  which  marks  the  best  that 
can  be  done  in  poetry."  The  Book  News 
Monthly  (A.  S.  Henry). 

"  When  ycu  hear  the  pessimists  bewailing 
the  good  old  time  when  real  poets  were  abroad 
in  the  land  ...  do  not  fail  to  quote 
them  almost  anything  by  Cale  Young  Rice, 
a  real  poet  writing  to-day.  ...  He  has 
done  so  much  splendid  work  one  can  scarcely 
praise  him  too  highly."  The  San  Francisco 
Call. 

"'In  Many  Gods'  the  scenes  are  those  of 
the  East,  and  while  it  is  not  the  East  of 
Loti,  Arnold  or  Hearn,  it  is  still  a  place  of 


brooding,  majesty,  mystery  and  subtle  fasci 
nation.  There  is  a  temptation  to  quote 
such  verses  for  their  melody,  dignity  of  form, 
beauty  of  imagery  and  height  of  Inspiration." 
The  Chicago  Journal. 

"'Love's  Cynic'  (a  long  poem  in  the  vol 
ume)  might  be  by  Browning  at  his  best." 
Pittsburg  Gazette-Times. 

"This  is  a  serious,  and  from  any  standpoint, 
a  successful  piece  of  work  ...  in  it 
are  poems  that  will  become  classic."  Passaic 
(New  Jersey)  News. 

"Mr.  Rice  must  be  hailed  as  one  among 
living  masters  of  his  art,  one  to  whom  we  may 
look  for  yet  greater  things."  Presbyterian 
Advance. 

"This  book  is  in  many  respects  a  remark 
able  work.  The  poems  are  indeed  poems." 
The  Nashville  Banner. 

"Mr.  Rice's  poetical  plays  reach  a  high 
level  of  achievement.  .  .  .  But  these 
poems  show  a  higher  vision  and  surer  mastery 
of  expression  than  ever  before."  The  London 
Bookman. 

Net,  $1.25  (postage  I2C.) 


A  NIGHT  IN  AVIGNON 

By 
CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

Successfully  produced  by  Donald  Robertson 

IT  IS  as  vivid  as  a  page  from  Browning. 
Mr.  Rice  has  the  dramatic  pulse." 
James  Euneker. 

"It  embraces  in  small  compass  all  the 
essentials  of  the  drama.  New  York  Saturday 
Times  Review  (Jessie  B.  Rittenhouse). 

"It  presents  one  of  the  most  striking 
situations  in  dramatic  literature  and  its 
climax  could  not  be  improved."  The  San 
Francisco  Call. 

"It  has  undeniable  power,  and  is  a  very 
decided  poetic  achievement."  The  Boston 
Transcript. 

"It  leaves  an  enduring  impression  of  a 
soul  tragedy."  The  Churchman. 

"Since  the  publication  of  his  'Charles  di 
Tocca'  and  other  dramas,  Cale  Young  Rice 
has  justly  been  regarded  as  a  leading  Ameri 
can  master  of  that  difficult  form,  and  many 
critics  have  ranked  him  above  Stephen 
Phillips,  at  least  on  the  dramatic  side  of  his 
art.  And  this  judgment  is  further  confirmed 
by  'A  Night  in  Avignon.'  It  is  almost  in 
credible  that  in  less  than  500  lines  Mr.  Rice 
should  have  been  able  to  create  so  perfect  a 


play  with  so  powerful  a  dramatic  effect."  The 
Chicago  Record-Herald  (Edwin  S.  Shumari) 

"There  is  poetic  richness  in  this  brilliant 
composition;  a  beauty  of  sentiment  and 
grace  in  every  line.  It  is  impressive,  metri 
cally  pleasing  and  dramatically  powerful." 
The  Philadelphia  Record. 

"It  offers  one  of  the  most  striking  situa 
tions  in  dramatic  literature."  The  Louisville 
Courier- Journal. 

"The  publication  of  a  poetic  drama  of  the 
quality  of  Mr.  Rice's  is  an  important  event 
in  the  present  tendency  of  American  litera 
ture.  He  is  a  leader  in  this  most  significant 
movement,  and  'A  Night  in  Avignon'  is 
marked,  like  his  other  plays,  by  dramatic 
directness,  high  poetic  fervor,  clarity  of 
poetic  diction,  and  felicity  of  phrasing." 
The  Chicago  Journal. 

"It  is  a  dramatically  told  episode,  and  the 
metre  is  most  effectively  handled,  making 
a  welcome  change  for  blank  verse,  and  greatly 
enhancing  the  interest."  Sydney  Lee. 

"Many  critics,    on    hearing    Mr.    Bryce's 
prediction  that  America  will  one  day  have  a 
poet,  would  be  tempted  to  remind  him  of 
Mr.  Rice."    The  Hartford  (Conn.)  Courant. 
Net  500.  (postage  $c.) 


YOLANDA  OF  CYPRUS 

A  Poetic  Drama  by 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

MINNIEMADDERNFISKsays:  "No 
one  can  doubt  that  it  is  superior 
poetically  and  dramatically  to  Ste 
phen   Phillips'   work,"   and   that   Mr.    Rice 
ranks  with  Mr.  Phillips  at  his  best  has  often 
been    reaffirmed. 

"It  is  encouraging  to  the  hope  of  a  native 
drama  to  know  that  an  American  has  written 
a  play  which  is  at  the  same  time  of  decided 
poetic  merit  and  of  decided  dramatic  power." 
The  New  York  Times  (Charles  M.  Hathaway, 
Jr.). 

"The  most  remarkable  quality  of  the  play 
is  its  sustained  dramatic  strength.  Poetically 
it  is  frequently  of  great  beauty.  It  is  also 
lofty  in  conception,  lucid  and  felicitous  in 
style,  and  the  dramatic  pulse  throbs  in  every 
line."  The  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  Springfield  Republican  says:  "The 
characters  are  drawn  with  force  and  the  play 
is  dignified  and  powerful,"  and  adds  that  if 
it  does  not  succeed  on  the  stage  it  will  be  "be 
cause  of  its  excellence." 

"Mr.  Rice  is  one  of  the  few  present-day 
poets  who  have  the  steadiness  and  weight  for 


a    well-sustained     drama."     The    Louisville 
Post  (Margaret  Anderson). 

"It  has  equal  command  of  imagination, 
dramatic  utterance,  picturesque  effectiveness 
and  metrical  harmony."  The  London  (Eng 
land)  Bookman. 

T.  P.'s  Weekly  says:  "It  might  well  stand 
the  difficult  test  of  production  and  will  be 
welcomed  by  all  who  care  for  serious  verse. 

The  Glasgow  (Scotland)  Herald  says:  "Yo- 
landa  of  Cyprus  is  finely  constructed;  the 
irregular  blank  verse  admirably  adapted  for 
the  exigencies  of  intense  emotion;  the  char 
acters  firmly  drawn;  and  the  climax  serves 
the  purpose  of  good  stagecraft  and  poetic 
justice." 

"It  is  well  constructed  and  instinct  with 
dramatic  power."  Sydney  Lee. 

"It  is  as  readable  as  a  novel."  The  Pitts- 
burg  Post. 

"Here  and  there  an  almost  Shakespearean 
note  is  struck.  In  makeup,  arrangement, 
and  poetic  intensity  it  ranks  with  Stephen 
Phillips'  work."  The  Book  News  Monthly. 

Net,  $1.25  (postage  loc.) 


CHARLES  DI  TOCCA 


CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

I  TAKE  off  my  hat   to   Mr.    Rice.    His 
play  is  full  of  poetry,  and  the  pitch  and 
dignity  of  the  whole  are  remarkable." 
James  Lane  Allen. 

"It  is  a  dramatic  poem  one  reads  with  a 
heightened  sense  of  its  fine  quality  through 
out.  It  is  sincere,  strong,  finished  and  noble, 
and  sustains  its  distinction  of  manner  to  the 
end.  .  .  .  The  character  of  Helena  is 
not  unworthy  of  any  of  the  great  masters  of 
dramatic  utterance."  The  Chicago  Tribune. 

"The  drama  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  kind 
ever  written  by  an  American  author.  Its 
whole  tone  is  masterful,  and  it  must  be  classed 
as  one  of  the  really  literary  works  of  the 
season."  (1903).  The  Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

"It  shows  a  remarkable  sense  of  dramatic 
construction  as  well  as  poetic  power  and 
strong  characterization."  James  Mac  Arthur, 
in  Harper's  Weekly. 

"This  play  has  many  elements  of  perfection. 
Its  plot  is  developed  with  ease  and  with  a  large 
dramatic  force;  its  characters  are  drawn  with 
sympathy  and  decision;  and  its  thoughts 


rise  to  a  very  real  beauty.  By  reason  of  it 
the  writer  has  gained  an  assured  place  among 
playwrights  who  seek  to  give  literary  as  well 
as  dramatic  worth  to  their  plays."  The 
Richmond  (Fa.)  News-Leader. 

"The  action  of  the  play  is  admirably  com 
pact  and  coherent,  and  it  contains  tragic 
situations  which  will  afford  pleasure  not  only 
to  the  student,  but  to  the  technical  reader." 
The  Nation. 

"It  is  the  most  powerful,  vital,  and  truly 
tragical  drama  written  by  an  American  for 
some  years.  There  is  genuine  pathos,  mighty 
yet  never  repellent  passion,  great  sincerity 
and  penetration,  and  great  elevation  and 
beauty  of  language."  The  Chicago  Post. 

"Mr.  Rice  ranks  among  America's  choicest 
poets  on  account  of  his  power  to  turn  music 
into  words,  his  virility,  and  of  the  fact  that  he 
has  something  of  his  own  to  say."  The  Boston 
Globe. 

"The  whole  play  breathes  forth  the  inde 
finable  spirit  of  the  Italian  renaissance.  In 
poetic  style  and  dramatic  treatment  it  is 
a  work  of  art."  The  Baltimore  Sun. 

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NIRVANA  DAYS 

Poems  by 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

MR.  RICE  has  the  technical  cunning 
that   makes   up   almost   the  entire 
equipment  of  many  poets  nowadays, 
but  human  nature  is  more  to  him  always 
.     .     .    and  he  has  the  feeling  and  imagina 
tive  sympathy  without  which  all  poetry  is 
but  an  empty  and  vain  thing."    The  London 
Bookman. 

"  Mr.  Rice's  note  is  a  clarion  call,  and  of  his 
two  poems,  'The  Strong  Man  to  His  Sires'  and 
'The  Young  to  the  Old/  the  former  will  send 
a  thrill  to  the  heart  of  every  man  who  has  the 
instinct  of  race  in  his  blood,  while  the  latter 
should  be  printed  above  the  desk  of  every 
minor  poet  and  pessimist.  .  .  .  The  son 
nets  of  the  sequence,  'Quest  and  Requital/ 
have  the  elements  of  great  poetry  in  them." 
The  Glasgow  (Scotland)  Herald. 

"  Mr.  Rice's  poems  are  singularly  free  from 
affectation,  and  he  seems  to  have  written  be 
cause  of  the  sincere  need  of  expressing  some 
thing  that  had  to  take  art  form."  The  Sun 
(New  York). 

"The  ability  to  write  verse  that  scans  is 
quite  common.  .  .  .  But  the  inspired 
thought  behind  the  lines  is  a  different 


thing;  and  it  is  this  thought  un trammeled 
—  the  clear  vision  searching  into  the  deeps 
of  human  emotion  —  which  gives  the  verse 
of  Mr.  Rice  weight  and  potency.  ...  In 
the  range  of  his  metrical  skill  he  easily  stands 
with  the  best  of  living  craftsmen  .  .  . 
and  we  have  hi  him  ...  a  poet  whose 
dramas  and  lyrics  will  endure."  The  Book 
News  Monthly  (A.  S.  Henry). 

"These  poems  are  marked  by  a  breadth 
of  outlook,  individuality  and  beauty  of 
thought.  The  author  reveals  deep,  sincere 
feeling  on  topics  which  do  not  readily  lend 
themselves  to  artistic  expression  and  which 
he  makes  eminently  worth  while."  The 
Buffalo  (N.  F.)  Courier. 

"We  get  throughout  the  idea  of  a  vast 
universe  and  of  the  soul  merging  itself  in  the 
infinite.  .  .  .  The  great  poem  of  the 
volume,  however,  is  'The  Strong  Man  to  His 
Sires.'"  The  Louisville  Post  (Margaret  S. 
Anderson). 

"The  poems  possess  much  music  .  .  . 
and  even  in  the  height  of  intensified  feeling 
the  clearness  of  Mr.  Rice's  ideas  is  not  dimmed 
by  the  obscure  haze  that  too  often  goes  with 
the  divine  fire."  The  Boston  Globe. 

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DAVID 

A  Poetic  Drama  by 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

I  WAS  greatly  impressed  with  it  and  de 
rived  a  sense  of  personal  encouragement 
from  the  evidence  of  so  fine  and  lofty 
a  product  for  the  stage."    Richard  Mansfield. 

"It  is  a  powerful  piece  of  dramatic  por 
traiture  in  which  Cale  Young  Rice  has  again 
demonstrated  his  insight  and  power.  What 
he  did  before  in  'Charles  di  Tocca'  he  has 
repeated  and  improved  upon.  .  .  .  Not 
a  few  instances  of  his  strength  might  be 
cited  as  of  almost  Shakespearean  force. 
Indeed  the  strictly  literary  merit  of  the  tragedy 
is  altogether  extraordinary.  It  is  a  con 
tribution  to  the  drama  full  of  charm  and 
power."  The  Chicago  Tribune. 

"From  the  standpoint  of  poetry,  dignity 
of  conception,  spiritual  elevation  and  finish 
and  beauty  of  line,  Mr.  Rice's  'David'  is, 
perhaps,  superior  to  his  'Yolanda  of  Cyprus/ 
but  the  two  can  scarcely  be  compared." 
The  New  York  Times  (Jessie  B.  Rittenhouse). 

"Never  before  has  the  theme  received  treat 
ment  in  a  manner  so  worthy  of  it."  The 
St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 


"It  needs  but  a  word,  for  it  has  been  passed 
upon  and  approved  by  critics  all  over  the 
country."  Book  News  Monthly »  And  again: 
"But  few  recent  writers  seem  to  have  found 
the  secret  of  dramatic  blank  verse;  and  of 
that  small  number,  Mr.  Rice  is,  if  not  first, 
at  least  without  superior." 

"With  instinctive  dramatic  and  poetic 
power,  Mr.  Rice  combines  a  knowledge  of 
the  exigencies  of  the  stage."  Harper's 
Weekly. 

"It  is  safe  to  say  that  were  Mr.  Rice  an 
Englishman  or  a  Frenchman,  his  reputation 
as  his  country's  most  distinquished  poetic 
dramatist  would  have  been  assured  by  a 
more  universal  sign  of  recognition.  The 
Baltimore  News  (writing  of  all  Mr.  Rice's 
plays). 


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SONG-SURF 

(Being  the  Lyric*  of  Play*  and  Lyric*)  by 

CALE  YOUNG  PRICE 

MR.  RICE'S  work  betrays  wide  sym 
pathies  with  nature  and  life,  and  a 
welcome  originality  of  sentiment  and 
metrical  harmony."    Sydney  Lee. 

"In  his  lyrics  Mr.  Rice's  imagination  works 
most  successfully.  He  is  an  optimist  —  and 
in  these  days  an  optimist  is  irresistible  — 
and  he  can  touch  delicately  things  too  holy 
for  a  rough  or  violent  pathos."  The  London 
Star  (James  Douglas). 

"Mr.  Rice's  highest  gift  is  essentially 
lyrical.  His  lyrics  have  a  charm  and  grace 
of  melody  distinctively  their  own."  The 
London  Bookman. 

"Mr.  Rice  is  keenly  responsive  to  the 
loveliness  of  the  outside  world,  and  he  re 
veals  this  beauty  in  words  that  sing  them 
selves."  The  Boston  Transcript. 

"Mr.  Rice's  work  is  everywhere  marked 
by  true  imaginative  power  and  elevation  of 
feeling."  The  Scotsman. 

"  Mr.  Rice's  work  would  seem  to  rank  with 
the  best  of  our  American  poets  of  to-day." 
The  Atlanta  Constitution. 


"Mr.  Rice's  poems  are  touched  with  the 
magic  of  the  muse.  They  have  inspiration, 
grace  and  true  lyric  quality."  The  Book 
News  Monthly. 

"Mr.  Rice's  poetry  as  a  whole  is  both 
strongly  and  delicately  spiritual.  Many  of 
these  lyrics  have  the  true  romantic  mystery 
and  charm.  ...  To  write  thus  is  no 
indifferent  matter.  It  indicates  not  only  long 
work  but  long  brooding  on  the  beauty  and 
mystery  of  life."  The  Louisville  Post. 

"Mr.  Rice  is  indisputably  one  of  the  greatest 
poets  who  have  lived  in  America.  .  .  . 
And  some  of  these  (earlier)  poems  are  truly 
beautiful.  The  Times-Union  (Albany,  N.  F.) 


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